A Second Chance
by Crystal Mystery
Summary: Stiles knows he died. What he doesn't know is why he isn't still dead. Not that he is complaining, except he kind of is because his ressurection isn't permenant and now he can't do anything but wait patiently to die again. Well unless he finds the 'key to his permanance' whatever that means. God how is this even his life? He totally blames Scott for this. -Major Sterek-
1. Pack Loyalty

The clearing was alive with movement, the faint glow of the crescent moon illuminating the battle raging against the mud and grass. Every noise pierced the night like a punch, short and sharp and painful.

Wolf fought wolf. Teeth bared, claws out, hackles raised as they bit and scratched and growled.

Hunters fought wolves. Targets acquired in crosshairs, moments spared to aim, bullets shooting from guns, arrows springing from bows, the scent of wolfsbane heavy in the air.

Hunter fought hunter. Reluctant shots fired from one side. Warnings more than death threats. One side abiding the code, or trying to, the other frenzied and blood thirsty, shooting anything and everything that moved.

It was mayhem. Complete mayhem.

And in the middle of it, Stiles.

Human, so very human. Unarmed in a battle, useless and scared. He'd had no choice, he hadn't chosen to be there, the Alpha pack, or what was left of it, had attacked in the middle of their meeting with the Argents. The other family of hunters arriving shortly after, supposedly drawn to the fight, not caring if they shot wolf or human. And now he stood, watching with perverse curiosity as arrows pierced the sky and bullets whizzed past his face close enough to hear, and flesh tore against the pressure of claws, loud and ghastly.

There was nowhere to hide. He had considered making a break for the treeline closest to him, running until he hit the road, getting as far from the fight as he could, but his feet wouldn't move, and he was pretty sure that the only reason he wasn't dead already was that he hadn't drawn attention to himself yet, running would only make him a target.

There was a yelp to one side. Stiles' head whipped round in time to see the twin shapes of Erica and Boyd crash into the trunk of a tree, an Alpha crowding towards them, madness shining in his eyes. He reached Erica first, baring his teeth as she tried to push herself up, and growling at Boyd when he attempted to come to her aid. A quick swipe of a paw knocked Boyd back down, this time unconscious against the dirt. Erica whined again, shifting to get closer to her pack-mate, check he wasn't dead or dying, but the looming form of the Alpha halted her movements.

The hulking brown wolf backed her into a tree as Stiles watched, snarling and spitting as it went. When she was pressed against the bark of the tree the Alpha placed a paw on her leg, and left it there, seemingly studying her face. And then, quite suddenly, he pushed down and Erica screamed as her bones broke beneath the pressure. The Alpha's muzzle pulled into a crude attempt at a smile. Stiles felt sick.

He willed himself to move, knowing now that given the chance, he could never run. He would never forgive himself for leaving his family behind to die alone without him. Either they all got out alive, or they died together. Anything else was unacceptable. The Alpha lowered his face to Erica's neck, teeth glinting against her skin. Stiles ran.

Words left his mouth but he couldn't hear what they were over the beating of his own heart jack-rabbiting against his ribs. He saw the Alpha hesitate, just briefly, withdrawing from Erica to stare incredulously at the scrawny human rocketing straight towards him, limbs flying and eyes burning. A large paw kept Erica pinned as the Alpha snapped his teeth at Stiles, daring him to come closer, daring him to be that stupid.

Then the Alpha was on the floor, pain pulsing through his veins. A small round bullet hole pierced his flank, blood dripping sluggishly from the wound, and pink smoke wafting lazily around the fur. Writhing on the earth, the wolf howled and scratched and choked for an entire minute before at last the burning stopped and the wolf lay still.

Stiles turned to look in the direction the shot had come from, eyes connecting with those of a young man, mid-twenties if that, shock etched on his face as he kept his weapon raised as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. He stared at the body of the wolf as if he was hoping it would get back up, as if he wished he could take back the shot, Stiles couldn't say he felt the same way after all the man had saved both his an Erica's life. Possibly Boyd's as well. Hell, he could have just saved them all.

There was a movement to the man's left, a rustle of leaves, barely there. Stiles jolted as the tip of a muzzle came out of the undergrowth beside the man. He opened his mouth to shout a warning but he was too late. A second Alpha was on the man, ripping into his flesh before he could so much as scream. Stiles let a sob leave his throat as he looked away.

Commotion behind him brought him back. He'd lost track of the rest of the fight, so focused on the Alpha and the hunter. He could see Jackson staring down the barrel of a gun, a hunter taunting him, unaware of Scott's bulky form circling around behind him.

Isaac was scrabbling with one of the smaller Alpha's but even as Stiles watched it was unclear who was winning. Blood covered the mud beneath them as grappled amongst the leaves, claws hooked into each other, amber eyes meeting the Alpha red.

Allison and Chris Argent were off in the trees, some other hunters with them, picking off shots when they could, but they seemed reluctant to really do any harm and instead added to the confusion.

Then something caught Stiles' eye. A woman had come across the body of the dead hunter and was cradling it to her chest, the gore smearing her shirt and tears scoring her cheeks. She seemed to howl at the moon as she rocked back and forth, but the noise was lost in the battle. She gently stroked a hand down the mostly unmarked cheek of the man before pushing onto her knees and placing him back on the ground. She spent one final moment gazing at the face of the hunter before standing, sliding her crossbow from her shoulder and notching an arrow. Her eyes were cold and emotionless, and Stiles couldn't look away.

She seemed to survey the clearing, detached from the entire fight, choosing her victim, searching for the culprit. Her eyes fell on the form of an Alpha, squaring off against another, bigger, Alpha. Blood smeared its muzzle and the woman snarled. She raised the crossbow, checking that the arrow was in place, that the familiar sheen of wolfsbane was present, and then fingered the trigger. The Alpha in her sights, she pulled back on the release and watched it fly straight at the belly of the beast.

Only it never hit the wolf.

It hit the human boy who had dived in front of it.

Stiles had seen the wolfsbane arrow, and had been running before it had left the bow. His legs had screamed as he pushed them, but he had needed to get to the other side of the clearing before the woman shot. He had needed to stop the arrow finding its target. He could only assume she thought she was aiming at the killer of the young man at her feet, and he had no time to tell her she was wrong.

But he was not about to let her shoot Derek if he could stop her.

With only feet to go he somehow heard the _click_ of the arrow being released, and with one last mad burst of anger he flung himself forward, arms pin wheeling in mid-air. Hearing the commotion, both Derek and his Alpha opponent turned to look at him, Derek's eyes meeting his as he flew towards him. Irritated confusion shone out of the red, and Stiles didn't want that to be the last look he saw on Derek's face, so he clenched his eyes shut and waited.

He gasped as the arrow sliced through his chest, the force of the blow forcing his eyes open, tears pooling at the bottom. Derek's face had changed from irritation mixed with confusion, to shock mixed with despair, and Stiles couldn't say that was much of an improvement. There was a sound, a scream, and he realised with a jolt that it was him screaming. The pain racking through his bones was making it impossible to focus on anything else, and as he crashed to his knees, he felt his blood begin to dribble from his mouth.

Then there was a hand on his face, and Derek's eyes, now human, stared into his. The utter despair in them pleased Stiles' fuzzy mind, happy that Derek at least cared enough to be saddened by his death, pleased that he hadn't been pining over someone who hated his guts, and it was possible there was something else there. But the thoughts were hard to keep hold off, and the fuzziness was beginning to cloud his eyesight. He could just about make out Derek's mouth moving but he was too far gone to hear the words spoken, the panic in his eyes spoke volumes though and so, using the last of his energy Stiles raised a hand to Derek's cheek and said

'Tell my dad I love him.'

Then it all went black.

**Yeah, so… I hope you liked this. And I hope it wasn't completely awful, and I know there was a lot of useless fight stuff, but this is all just set up for the story so bear with me. THERE WILL BE MORE. And Stiles isn't going to stay dead don't worry, I would never kill my baby, but if you want to know what is going to happen you will have to stay tuned won't you.**

**I'll try to update soon-ish.**


	2. Rebirth

'Stiles, wake up.'

Stiles blinked his eyes open. The blinding whiteness that greeted him made him rethink that choice and he slammed them closed once more, his hands coming to rub his watering eyes, trying to get rid of the sting. He groaned.

His body ached all over, and his head was throbbing in time to the beat of his heart. There was a spot on his chest, about where his heart was, that felt like it was on fire, but he couldn't for the life of him remember why.

His eyes slowly became accustomed to the whiteness, and he hesitantly looked around. There was nothing. Literally nothing. Just white, endless, timeless, white. His head span.

Where the hell was he? The last thing he remembered was…

Getting shot in the chest. That must be why his heart felt like it was on fire, but then shouldn't he be dead? Or was that where he was? Was this heaven? More likely hell. A place with nothing to do and no one to talk to, that was definitely Stiles' definition of hell right there.

But wait.

He'd heard a voice. It had woken him, called him to wherever this was. So then, there must be something here, the whiteness couldn't be all there was.

'Hello?'

It was strange calling into the nothing. It just went on forever. He had expected an echo, there were always eerie echoes in the movies, but his voice just carried off into the distance. Somehow that was worse.

'Hello Stiles.'

Stiles jolted, hand pressing to his heart as he puffed and looked around. It was a female voice; at least he thought it was. Strong and warm but he couldn't work out where it was coming from, it seemed to be coming from all around him, and yeah, that wasn't creepy at all.

'Er, hi. Where are you? Wait no, first, where am I? And am I dead? Because I thought I died, I _remember_ dying, but I'm here now, and I'm pretty sure that this isn't heaven because it kind of sucks, and if this were hell I think I'd probably be suffering more than I am, and I'm not really sure what purgatory _is_ exactly, so this might be it, but I don't know. And I don't like not knowing.

I don't like not knowing if my friends survived, or if they won the battle, I don't like not knowing what they told my dad. I really don't like not being able to comfort him, and god, I was all he had left, this will kill him-'

'You sure do have a lot of questions, but if you want me to answer them then you will have to give me time to speak, can you do that?'

Stiles nodded, not trusting himself to stay silent if he opened his mouth again.

'Firstly you are not dead. Well, not really. You are… on the brink. We stopped you from crossing over because we do not think that it is your time, but we cannot make that decision so we brought you here to let you choose yourself.

Furthermore, your friends survived the battle, and victory was theirs, but injuries were sustained although that is of little consequence to their kind I should think. With time they should all be physically fine. Mentally however, your death has had a rather dire effect on them, and I cannot say whether or not they will recover from that any time soon. Your father has not been informed of your passing yet, and should you choose to return we will try to get you back before he is told, to minimise the problems you will face. As for who I am or where I am, that should not be of any importance to you, it might be wise to let that one go. Do you have any other questions?'

'Why can't you tell me who you are?'

'Me Stilinski.' The response came as a growl, a clear warning and he sighed.

'Fine. How about this then? Why would you save me? Why, out of all the people who die each day, would you save me?'

'As we said it is not your time. You are a brave and stupid boy Mr Stilinski. Even the fates themselves did not foresee you throwing yourself in front of that arrow. Of course the fate's sight is always somewhat _impaired_ when it comes to werewolves, but you, you make it impossible for them to see straight. Everything you do seems to be riddled with spontaneity, it is very annoying, and so is your death. We feel it might be better in the long run if you were to return to the living, and that is why we saved you.'

Stiles was silent for a short while, mind racing at the new information. Somewhere inside of him his pride was flaring, Stiles Stilinski - the boy who cheated fate, but that was quickly overshadowed by his confusion. Finally the voice spoke again.

'We feel that we should be straight with you however. We cannot return you to the living without reason. Not even we have that power. So we will have to trust that you can find the key to your permanence yourself, or you will have to pass over and we won't be able to help you.'

'Key to my permanence? What does that even mean? That there is something I have to do, some destiny I have to fulfil, in order to come back to life permanently?'

'You seem to have understood us perfectly. It is one of the paths fate can see you travelling, but unless you pick it we cannot justify your return because bringing you back would not have changed anything. We cannot tell you what it is however, only that it is something close to you, something you want, but something you are too afraid to pursue. Once you have the key, once you find that which is your destiny, then fate can follow its true and righteous path and you can stay with your friends and family until you true time comes. Without you, a sadder, more destructive path will have to be taken, it is up to you to stop that from happening.'

Stiles laughed.

'So no pressure then?'

'Oh no, there is pressure. You can only stay alive for however long our power holds and we do not know how long that will be. Find the key. For your sake as much as ours. The lives of your friends will be unbearably dark if you do not live up to your potential. Will you go?'

'You really aren't giving me much of a choice are you? Yes, yes I will go. But please, can't you give me a hint, a clue of some sort?'

The whiteness seemed to be moving, edging into Stiles' mind. He panicked, shaking his head, trying to remove it, but it just kept coming.

'Give into it Stiles, the whiteness is your friend, let it take you home.'

And really, he was never going to beat it so he did what he was told and stepped into it, let it wash him away in its currents. And right before the whiteness melted into blackness there was a flash of scorching red and the voice said,

'You're special, they need you, _he_ needs you.'

And then the blackness took over again.

**I don't even know what this chapter was. It feels like this is going to be a really bad story. I hope not, I like what I've got in my mind, it just won't come out when I write it. Grrr! Oh well, please tell me what you think.**


	3. Resurrection

By the time Stiles came round again his head was aching. Spots danced behind his closed eyelids and he rubbed at them viciously as he sat up, startling at the rustle his movement caused. Tentatively he opened his eyes, half worried that he would be greeted by the whiteness again, but instead he looked upon the familiar sight of the forest.

Glancing around to get a firmer baring, Stiles was startled to realise that he sat exactly where he had fallen during the fight. Daylight seeped through the canopy into the clearing, but it was impossible to say how long had passed since he had taken the bolt to the torso and wound up in limbo. There was still evidence of the battle all around him, claw marks on the trees, blood ominously spilt in various splashes, and even a few bullets and arrows scattered within Stiles' view, but he could see no bodies, something which he was vaguely glad for.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing about the clearing was the mound of rocks piled up directly behind where Stiles had woken. There was something eerie about them, and he was sure they had not been there before. Crawling to his knees and then boosting himself to standing, Stiles wandered towards the mound, brushing the mud from his hands onto his jeans as he went.

Up close it became obvious what it was. The markings on the upturned rocks of the top combined with the overall shape left no doubt in his mind. It was a grave.

Sickness bubbled in his chest. A choking, cloying feeling that itched at his throat. He wondered whose grave it was, who had died. Every name that his mind came up with sent another jolt of pain rocketing through him until he was panting on the spot, harsh shallow breaths slipping past his bared teeth. A breeze blew through the clearing ruffling his jacket around his arms and causing him to shiver despite himself. A leaf that was perched on top of the grave shook minutely before it was picked up and carried away on a gust of wind. Stiles stared at the writing on the grave, the writing that was now visible with the leaf gone, the writing that both lifted his heart and tore it in two.

Stiles Stilinski

RIP

It was simple and crude, cut painstakingly into a rock in sharp jagged lines, but it was clear and heartfelt. The effort that had gone into it, that had gone into the grave as a whole, caused tears to pool in his eyes, and he felt his knees go weak, so he settled back down on the mossy floor of the forest and allowed himself a moment to sob and laugh until it wasn't clear which was which, and to generally wrap his head around everything that had happened. Even with the way his life was going, it wasn't every day that he managed to come back from the dead.

Minutes passed as he sat by his own grave, stroking the carved stone subconsciously as he thought over the events of the day? Days? He didn't really know at that point. All he did know was that somehow he had been raised from the dead. Everything else was kind of fuzzy. He sighed in frustration.

Finally, after letting himself wallow a little longer, he pushed up off of the leaf litter, and began to walk away from the clearing in the direction of his house. It had been a long day, he just wanted to see his dad.

Stepping through the front door was surreal. He knew he hadn't been gone long, but it felt like lifetimes to him and the sudden familiarity of the action had shocked him. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find his keys still safe in his pocket along with his wallet and phone, and one missed call from his dad had flashed on the screen when he had turned the phone on. One missed call wasn't bad, it either meant that his dad wasn't all that worried about where he was because he had no reason to be worried, or that he had been informed of his son's passing and had realised that calling him would be useless. He really hoped that it wasn't the second.

'Dad?'

The sound echoed around the house as he pricked his ears for a response. The cruiser was in the driveway so Stiles figured that the Sheriff was home, but he wanted to be sure, plus it didn't hurt to announce himself. He wasn't all that sure whether he would be received well, after all, there was a chance that his dad thought he was dead. There was no answer, and after a quick peek in the kitchen, Stiles moved towards the stairs.

On the landing he caught sight of a clock blinking in the gloom. Its florescent numbers told him that it was ten minutes to eight on a Saturday which meant that it was highly likely that his dad was still in bed, sleeping soundly. That was only confirmed by the loud snores Stiles could hear from the room at the end of the hall. Smiling to himself, Stiles knocked once on the door and twisted the doorknob in his hand.

Inside the room was dark, curtains pulled to keep the light out. The bed in the centre of the room was a mess, covers everywhere and limbs protruding at odd angles. Stiles knew he got his restless sleeping from his dad, but it still amused him to see the normally so composed Sheriff drooling into his pillow in the early hours of a Saturday. Crouching down he gently shook his dad's shoulder.

'Hey dad, I just wanted to tell you I'm home.'

His dad grunted and rolled his head to the side, squinting into the darkness to better see Stiles, before he closed his eyes again and buried his head back into his pillow.

'That's great son. Now go away.'

He grabbed the pillow that he wasn't lying on and chucked it in Stiles' general direction, listening with a small smile as Stiles jumped out of the way of the flying object and ran towards the door, giggling to himself. As he heard the door click shut, the sheriff rolled over once more and fell asleep again.

Stiles wandered down the hallway to his room, and began to pull off the dirty clothes he was wearing, resolving to shower before changing into clean ones. He was relieved that his dad seemed to have no idea about his brief run in with death, but he knew that the pack wouldn't be so oblivious and they had to be his next stop.

Once he was washed and dressed in clean clothes, Stiles wrote a note to his dad telling him he was heading out and would be back for lunch, before he grabbed his keys and valuables and hopped into the jeep. She was still parked outside of his house, so he figured he must not have driven to the battle the night before (because he had worked out that he had only been dead one night) though he couldn't remember for sure.

He figured the easiest place to start looking for the pack was at the Hale house as it was a Saturday and they always trained and bonded together there on the weekend. He wondered if that would be the case seeing as they were all still recovering from their battle wounds, and perhaps still reeling over the loss of their pack clown, but he felt it the smartest place to start anyway.

Drawing closer to the wreckage of the house Stiles could see the various cars parked outside and he knew he had made the right choice. He swung his car in alongside Jackson's Porsche and unbuckled his belt, breathing deeply to prepare himself.

He wasn't really sure how one brought themselves back from the dead in polite society. It wasn't really a situation that one came across in day to day life, or, well, _ever_. He doubted there were books on the subject, or pamphlets with a step by step guide, so he guessed that the easiest way would be to waltz through the door and let them work it out for themselves.

However, upon entering the house it became apparent that no one was home and Stiles figured they were probably out on a run or something. Werewolf activities and all of that. So he hunkered down on the sagging remains of an old couch and waited for them to return, nerves biting away at him until eventually, he fell asleep.

'Stiles?'

'What the fuck?'

'Is that him? How is that him?'

A rough hand jostled Stiles' shoulder, the hand retreating quickly when he let out a sleepy moan. He rolled till he was sitting upright and let out a tremendous yawn, taking his sweet time waking up. Finally he set his hands in his lap and looked up at the group circling him.

Derek was the closest, probably the one who had shoved him awake. Stiles gave him a quick glare for that and felt a little bad when his confused, pinched face became a little hurt. Scott's eyes were full of wonderment of puppy proportions, and Isaac seemed to be balancing his wonderment with a healthy dose of suspicion. Boyd's face was a mask of calm but his eyes hinted at interest. Erica's mouth was hanging open, disbelief written across her face as if someone had used permanent marker. Jackson was nearer the back of the group, withdrawn and feigning disinterest, but Stiles caught him casting confused glances in his direction and took that to mean that Jackson was practically gaping alongside Erica. It was quite a sight.

When the stunned silence stretched on a little too long, Stiles began to fidget, and when that failed to quieten the uncomfortable feeling inside him, he raised a hand in a pitiful wave, tugging the corners of his mouth up into a small smile.

'Er, hi guys. How are you?'

There was no answer but Derek grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and dragged him over to the nearest wall which he then proceeded to slam Stiles into. Dust trickled down from the ceiling and the entire building shook and creaked ominously. Pressing in close, Stiles whimpered in fear as Derek tilted his head back with a quick butt of his head and began sniffing around his neck. Unsure of what was happening, Stiles stayed locked in place, reluctant to move lest the wolf molesting him became enraged and went for the kill. He wasn't sure what Derek _was _doing but after all of the threats he wasn't going to do anything to provoke Derek 'ripping his throat out… with his teeth' as he was so fond of threatening.

Suddenly, the sniffing stopped and Derek backed away. Stiles stumbled as the grip on his hoodie disappeared and he was left confused and leaning against the crumbling wall. Derek moved back to where his pack was looking on in confusion that mirrored Stiles', and he sighed as if it were a great hassle to explain just what the hell he was doing pressing all up in Stiles' business.

'I was checking to see if Stiles was possessed. He's not.'

All eyes turned on Stiles and he shrugged half-heartedly, straightening his hoodie.

'You could have just asked Sourwolf, unlike you I have no aversion to sharing information.'

Derek growled under his breath.

'Regardless of you tendency to babble, there was a possibility that you might be possessed without your knowledge. I had to know for sure and now I do. What I don't know is how you _are _standing here right now if not through possession.'

Stiles laughed as he made his way back to the burnt out sofa and plonked himself down in it, choking on the dust that was disturbed by his graceless descent. He grinned widely at Scott as he tentatively came to sit beside Stiles, and gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder before turning back to Derek.

'Well, now that you and your freaky werewolf senses have cleared me of demonic possession, I think we can all relax. As far as I know I'm still plain old human Stiles, so sorry about that, but I come in peace. Seriously, no harm intended on my part. All I know is I took a shot to the chest, had a quick chat with a voice that said my time on this planet wasn't up and beamed me back down here. I woke up a couple of hours ago in the clearing – Oh, I really appreciate the grave by the way. Really sweet of you guys – but yeah. I went to check on my dad, then came straight here. That's about all I know though.'

He took in the puzzled looks, watching carefully as they took everything he said in.

'This… _voice_-'

'No need to be so patronising Derek, I know it _sounds_ ridiculous but come on. I'm a dead man walking chatting about his resurrection act with a bunch of super humans with a furry little secret come the full moon. Is a disembodied voice _really_ that unbelievable?'

A scowl.

'Fine, point taken. But this voice, what did you talk about with it?'

Stiles scratched his head, the fuzziness in it was buzzing in the background and he was finding it hard to concentrate on those memories.

'Um, it's all a little fuzzy to be honest. But basically we just discussed how awesome I am, how the world needs me, and then I woke up in a bed of leaves, with a pounding headache, and no sign whatsoever of any wound.'

'That's all you remember?' Isaac piped up from Derek's left, shrinking a bit as the Alpha turned to look at him. Stiles smiled.

'Yeah, pretty much. That and a very specific image of whiteness. Neither of which are all that useful. Sorry.'

There was another uncomfortable silence as everyone considered the information, and Stiles eventually got bored. He yawned and stretched before rising to his feet and heading towards the door. At the frame, he turned back to address the wolves, startling when he found that Derek had followed him and was standing very close to his back.

'Alright. So, unless any of you have any useful insights, I am going to head home, have lunch with my dad, finish my Chemistry lab and then watch some crap television before bed. Because frankly I am exhausted. If you need me that is where I will be. I'll see you all tomorrow.'

Derek's hand on his shoulder stopped him from leaving and he sighed before turning around to face the Alpha. Derek's face was confused, and he peered into Stiles' eyes worriedly as if he were afraid what he might see. Derek's eyes were deep and dark and they held a look of such concern and, dare he say it, care, that Stiles couldn't look away. After a minute of staring, Derek huffed and dropped his hand, breaking eye contact.

'You sure you're ok?' He questioned, his voice soft and genuine. Startled, Stiles blinked for a long moment before smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and replied in an equally quiet voice.

'Yeah Derek. I'm fine, I swear. I'll see you tomorrow.'

He waited for a nod before grinning at the rest of the pack, swivelling on his heel, and heading towards his Jeep.

That night he dreamt of Derek Hale's eyes. The following morning he convinced himself it had never happened.

**So, this chapter was quite long, but I hope you liked it all the same. All your reviews are so nice, so thank you for them. I'll keep updating if you guys keep reading, that is a promise. **


	4. White

The first time it happened, Stiles came too just as Scott climbed into the Jeep.

It was odd. For the life of him Stiles could not remember anything that had happened that morning. Actually, if he thought about it, a more accurate statement would be that he could not remember anything since around 8 o'clock the night before. But there he was, 7.00 in the morning, in his jeep, picking up Scott for school like he did every morning. His clothes were clean and changed from the night before, his hair was still wet from where he had obviously had a shower, and his stomach felt like it was just the wrong side of too much food, the ache telling him he had eaten breakfast already that day. But he _couldn't remember it_.

Scott, on his part hadn't noticed anything wrong at all. In fact he was strapping himself into the passenger seat mid rant over some English assignment, by the time Stiles paid any attention to him. Realising that the rant wasn't anywhere near over, Stiles pulled at the hand break and backed out of Scott's driveway, letting his friend's angry tones blur in his mind. He then turned his focus to the problem at hand.

He quickly realised that the memories _were_ there if he looked hard enough, he could see every single one of them, but there was a distinct detachment to each of them. As if he were seeing a video of himself doing something, so he knew it had to have happened, but he had no recollection of ever having done it physically. All the information was there, all the time he had lost was _there_, Stiles just seemed to have fast forwarded through it all. And with it all came the familiar _whiteness_ that had plagued him since he had come back the week before.

Every time he sensed it, Stiles felt as if he were missing something, like maybe he had forgotten a piece of a puzzle he had forgotten he was even playing with. But whatever it was kept evading him, slipping just out of his grasp, and the frustration hadn't been worth the effort so he had let it be. But now it was affecting him, and that just wasn't cool with Stiles. And he wasn't the Sheriff's son for nothing, so he was keen to figure out just what was going on. He just needed to pick a place to start.

Pulling into the school, Stiles let Scott jump out before slipping into a free space and following him towards the building. Instantly Erica bounced over, lips spread in a feral smile as she slung an arm over Stiles' shoulder. The weight was oddly reassuring, and some of the tension left his body as she and Scott walked him to his locker, chatting idly as he pulled out the books for his morning lessons.

When the bell rang again, Erica sauntered off and Stiles headed towards his classroom, dragging Scott away from where he had been unsubtly attempting to use a locker door to conceal himself while he mooned over Allison's retreating form.

The morning went slowly. Chemistry was the usual hell, but he spent the time swapping notes with Scott under the table, playing noughts and crosses with Isaac, and trying to throw balled up wads of paper at Jackson without attracting attention to himself. Econ followed much the same but without the throwing paper at Jackson, because after Chemistry Jackson had cornered him and threatened him with bodily harm if the paper siege were to continue. But if anyone asked Stiles was definitely going to say his lenience was because he was worried about hitting Danny. And Danny was lovely.

Lunch was a rowdy affair what with the pack eager to be as close to each other as possible. Stiles ended up wedged between Boyd and Jackson, who was still mad at Stiles, so Stiles had to spend the whole lunch period getting confused looks from Boyd as he practically sat in his lap to avoid Jackson's random kicks to his shins. But all the chaos meant he had little time to ponder the strange happenings of that morning. It wasn't until the afternoon that his attention was brought back to it.

Grabbing his books for the last two classes of the day, he made plans to meet Scott by the Jeep seeing as they had no more classes together for the afternoon. In fact, because his afternoon consisted only of AP classes, Stiles was pretty much alone for the rest of the school day. He checked his bag to make sure he had his pad of paper with him, already planning to doodle his way through the rest of school, when he felt an itching at the back of his head, and he felt the whiteness creeping in.

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the whiteness away, and jolting whenever some other student collided with his shoulder. Through sheer force of will the whiteness began to recede, edging back to the corners of his mind. When it was all gone Stiles reopened his eyes and smiled proudly to himself, glad that it seemed he had some control over the oddity, before picking up his bag from where it had fallen when he had abruptly stopped in the middle of the hall, and carrying on towards his classroom.

When he reached the door of his English classroom, he raised a hand to push at the door frame. He could see the other students inside, chatting between themselves and he sighed, reasoning that he only had 2 more hours to survive before he got to head home and tackle the mountains of homework he had waiting for him. Joy.

But as he placed his hand against the peeling paint of the door, the whiteness swarmed his mind again, more insistent this time, and his vision blurred. He his felt his bag slip down his arm as he was swept away in the endless nothing that accompanied the whiteness. He tried to scream but the action escaped him. All he knew was white. Endless, empty, white.

Then he was walking towards his Jeep.

He checked his watch, startling when he saw that school was over. He swore when he realised that it had happened again, that the whiteness had taken over again. Once more, when he thought about it carefully he could remember everything that had happened in the time that was missing, but it all felt unreal. Digging in his bag he pulled out his note pad and he flicked through it until he reached the last page with notes on it. The paper was littered with scribbled notes and stupid doodles, and the top of the page was noted with the date. The information was from the AP English lesson he had been going into before he whited out, and looking at it he recalled all the information as if he had been there, but he _knew_ that he hadn't, at least not fully.

Before he could think about it further Scott was there, pulling at his arm, telling him to hurry up, that he wanted to go to the nearest fast food place and scarf down junk food till he was sick. And as he was feeling rather shaken up, Stiles was in no mood to protest so he hopped in the driver's seat, leant out his window to shout down Erica, Isaac and Boyd to invite them, and then focused on driving, and _only_ on driving. He knew that at that moment his mind was too frazzled to deal with anything more than crap food, monotonous mall music and light hearted banter with his friends. As he glanced over at Scott, who was smiling happily to himself, and at Isaac, who had crawled into the backseat, he realised that he already felt a little better, a little calmer.

That night was the third time it happened.

But it was different as well.

This time when he came too Stiles recalled something he hadn't before. When he looked through the whiteness to see what he had missed while he was out, he could hear a voice whispering to him, telling him things he half remembered.

And just like that the conversation came rushing back. Everything he had forgotten, everything he had half remembered, everything that had transpired in limbo, it was all there. And finally the white outs made sense, or at least they made more sense, they had a purpose.

They were a reminder, a reminder that this was all very temporary. A reminder that he still had a riddle to solve and he wasn't any closer to solving it, and that time was running out. It was a reminder that the whiteness was waiting there, in the back of his mind, to claim his again if he failed to do what he was destined to do. Or at least what the voice hoped he was destined to do.

But there was something else. Something about the white outs. Something that troubled Stiles. The whisper had told him to look closer at them, to consider them more carefully, and when he did he realised they weren't quite right. They seemed too systematic, too ordered, not random enough to not mean anything more. So, Stiles figured they had to be more than a warning.

He figured they had to be a clue.

**Hmmm, I'm not sure about this chapter. Thoughts?**


	5. Puzzles

A week passed before Stiles worked it out. The whiteness was becoming a lot more frequent as the days went by, but, as panicking as that was, it was also thanks to this that Stiles managed to draw his conclusions.

At first it had seemed random, sometimes he lived through his life, sometimes he recalled bits of it without ever having any recollection of the memories beyond their being there. There was no rhyme or rhythm, or so he thought. One moment he would be hopping into his car, heading home from an evening out with his friends, scarfing pizza like a dying man, and at this point he was pretty sure that was what he was, and the next he was coming to as Derek climbed in through his window demanding he research the latest supposed threat. One moment he was wandering the corridors of school, ready for another fun filled day of learning, and the next he was at lunch, and his friends were all laughing and chatting around him as if he wasn't experiencing a version of his own personal hell.

It was only when he sat down and wrote a list of all the periods the whiteness had taken, and all the memories he had that were still his own, that he realised the pattern. Every lesson he couldn't remember in school was a lesson he was alone in, a lesson none of the pack shared with him. Any lesson with Scott, or Isaac, or Erica, Boyd, even Jackson, were all there safe in the 'lived through' zone. But the lessons he had without them? Only memories.

It was the same with outside school. As soon as he walked away from any member of the pack the whiteness flooded through him and he only came too when he saw Scott in the mornings, or if Derek decided he needed his help for some reason or other and scaled his house in the middle of the night. It was a puzzle, a riddle, but it had a pattern.

Stiles had been right, it was a clue.

But a clue to what?

All he had to go on was that this 'key to permanence' had to have something to do with the pack. He had to _do _something, _change_ something that was linked to the pack in order to remain alive. But he had no idea what that was.

But it wasn't just the pack was it. It was Stiles in _relation _to the pack. It was something that one line of fate saw him doing, it was something that fate knew he _wanted _to do but was too afraid to ask for. So it couldn't be anything drastic like _killing_ a pack member, because as much as Jackson pissed him off at times, that was something he could never see himself doing, and he already helped them as much as he could, so that seemed like a dead end as well. In fact, when he thought about it, there was really only one thing he wanted from the pack, and that was to be part of it.

So maybe that was it. Maybe he was supposed to become pack. God knows he was way too scared to ask for it, to ask for the bite, but if that's what it took to stay breathing then wasn't it worth the fear, the pain? Stiles had no idea how him becoming a wolf was supposed to stop the 'darker path of destiny' from shitting on his friends, but he did know that he was willing to do what he could to stop that from happening. If he could help, he knew he would. He'd already died for the pack once, he really shouldn't be so scared about getting his werewolf on. But with the arrow he'd had very little time to think his rescue through, and now he had nothing but time to think it all through. And time was not Stiles' friend right now.

'Dude, you suck at this game. Are you even trying?'

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts as Scott crowed in triumph beside him. On the screen in front of him the words 'Game Over' were flashing in big red letters as his character's death was playing over and over.

'Sorry Scotty, my minds elsewhere.'

Scott frowned at him, confused and a little pissed at the nickname but he let it slide in order to pursue his worry.

'You alright? You feel sick or something? Want me to get you pain killers?'

His hand came up to rest on Stiles' forehead, but he batted it away as soon as it touched his skin and rose to his feet, tossing the controller onto the floor. Scott followed him as he walked from the living room into the hallway of Scott's house.

'I feel fine.' A lie, but Scott didn't pick up on it. 'I just – I just need to go somewhere for a little while. If I don't text you can you cover for me and tell my dad that I'm staying here tonight?'

Scott looked unhappy about it, looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but the seriousness on Stiles' face must have convinced him against pressuring his friend into talking, so he nodded instead. Stiles smiled and pulled Scott into a brief hug, glad that he had someone as cool as Scott as a best friend, even if he was incredibly obtuse sometimes. Then he left.

The whiteness cleared as he pulled up to the abandoned Hale house which only confirmed Stiles' assumption that that was were Derek was staying those days. He had little doubt that Derek had heard his arrival so he didn't bother knocking on the sad remains of the door frame and instead welcomed himself inside. He made his way into the old, creaking living room, and sat himself down on the worn out sofa while he waited for Derek to come and find him.

It took three minutes, but eventually Derek strode into the room, hair ruffled like he'd been sleeping restlessly, and shirt inside out. Stiles hadn't even considered that Derek might have been asleep when he showed up, but it was too late to go back now, so he decided to forge on.

'What are you doing here Stiles?'

Strangely he didn't sound angry at Stiles' presence, instead there were traces of curiosity in his voice. In the gloom of the room Stiles could just about see one of Derek's eyebrows arched as he stared the teen down.

Stiles sighed.

'I need your help. I need you to do something for me. And I know you probably won't want to but, please just hear me out before you say no, ok?'

Derek paused, seemed to consider Stiles, and then nodded. He dragged a chair forward so that it was in front of Stiles who was still perched on the sofa. He settled himself down on the rotting wood before gesturing for Stiles to talk.

'The voice, the one I told you about, she said something to me, something important. I didn't remember it straight away, but a week ago it all came back to me. She told me that she wanted to send me back here, that it hadn't been my time to die, and when I agreed, that's what she did.'

If he wasn't mistaken, Stiles could have sworn he saw Derek smile. A tiny tilt of the lips, gone within seconds, but there nonetheless.

'But she said that my return wasn't permanent, that I could only be returned temporarily without just reason for my resurrection.'

Derek's eyes were wide, their gaze flicking across Stiles' face at alarming speed.

'She told me that unless I found the key to my permanence, they would have to reclaim me as one of the dead and that without me doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to do, the timelines for the rest of you will become terrible and dark. There's something I'm supposed to do Derek, and if I do it, then I can stay here, and you guys won't have to suffer the wrong path, and I think I know what it is that I have to do.'

He held up a hand as Derek made to speak.

'Since I've been back I keep losing large chunks of my life. The whiteness that claimed me when I died comes back and I have to wait it out until I come too again. The more days that pass, the worse it gets, but I realised that there is a pattern to it. Whenever I am with one of the pack the whiteness leaves me alone, but the minute I step away the whiteness takes me. I figure that it's a clue as to what I have to do to make this resurrection stick.

I figure that I have to become part of the pack, that that is what the timelines want. The voice told me that it was something I want but I'm too scared to ask for, so joining your pack of werewolf misfits fits the bill. And that's where you come in Mr Alpha.'

Derek had a pinched look on his face, his eyes still worried and unable to stay still. He was hunched in the chair, leaning towards Stiles, his mouth pulled in a firm, unsmiling, line.

'What do you want me to do?'

Stiles stared at him incredulously.

'Isn't it obvious? I need to join the pack, wolf me up. Initiate me into the werewolf ranks. I don't want to die again Derek, and I certainly I'm not going to let you suffer because I was too chicken shit to man up and allow a little fang action to be done on my general person. But that requires your assistance of course, you being the barer of the fangs and all that. Hence my late night visit.'

'Stiles-'

'Look, I know that you probably don't want a new pack member, and I know I'm annoying and you want to kill me most of the time, but this isn't for me Derek. This isn't about me. Well it is, but it isn't. You know what I mean. I'm doing this so that the fates don't screw you over. All of you. Am I so unbearable that you would rather bring suffering down on the rest of the pack than let me join.'

'Stiles-'

'Come on. I really don't want to die again. It hurt like hell Derek. And this whole memory thing is freaking me out. And I just want to help –'

'_Stiles!_ Shut up for a minute.'

There was a warm hand on Stiles' knee that startled him into silence just as much as the words did. He glanced up from where he'd been staring at a crack in the floor where a spider kept poking out of every few seconds, and finally met Derek's eyes. His face was pulled tight, creases lining his forehead and eyebrows drawn together. He was looking at Stiles like he'd never seen him before, but also as if Stiles were the biggest idiot he had ever seen in his life, which wasn't actually that unusual for him.

'Stiles, putting aside the rest of the alarming information you just dumped on me, are you seriously asking for the bite so that you can become part of the pack? Because if you are then you are the most idiotic person I've met, and I've known Scott for a while now.'

Stiles smiled a little at the joke, but made no move to respond. The hand on his knee was sending strange tingles up his legs and he was focusing very hard on trying to ignore them.

'How can you not know that you are already pack? That you were pack even before Scott was? I thought you were supposed to be smart.'

'But – but I'm not a wolf.'

'That doesn't matter. Humans can be part of a wolf pack, I mean it is fairly rare but it happens. One of my aunts was a human, same with one of my cousins. Species doesn't really matter, it's loyalty and bravery that make a good pack mate. Stiles, you look after us when we're hurt, you put the pack above everything, even telling your father the truth, you fight things 50 times your strength to protect the pack, you took an _arrow to the chest_ to save my life. And now you are sitting here in front of me asking for the bite when I know you are terrified, in the hopes that it might save us some grief later on. Stiles, you are more pack than any of us, you may not be a wolf, but you have the heart of one. So don't ever think that you aren't pack, and don't ever think we wouldn't want you to be.'

Stiles swallowed past the lump in his throat, blinking away the tears that were stinging his eyes. His heart thumped against his ribs as his lips spread into the most blinding smile he could manage. The words swam in his brain, burning behind his eyelids as Derek stared unblinkingly at his face, seemingly captivated by Stiles' reaction. His hand rubbed soothing circles into Stiles' knee and Stiles got the impression that he wasn't quite aware that it was doing that. He wasn't going to complain about that though.

Eventually he sobered though, the creak of the wind through the house dragging him down from his ego high and reminding him that there was still a problem, still something he hadn't sorted. He swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry.

'But if that isn't it, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to stop fate from fucking up? How am I supposed to stop myself from dying again? I'm back to square one Derek.'

They stared at each other, breathing shallowly, worry pouring off of them. Stiles eyes teared up again, but he refused to let the tears fall, he refused to let the weakness show, refused to let Derek see how scared he was. Eventually, Derek withdrew his hand, and Stiles stopped himself from making a grab for it as it pulled away, the warm patch on his knee succumbing to the chill of the house. But then Derek was moving, pushing up from the chair and crossing over to sit beside Stiles on the sofa. There was a moment of hesitance, a moment of awkward stillness, before Derek put his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulled him against his side, the movement stiff and unnatural as if it were new to him.

It took a minute, but he eventually relaxed into the hug, and he settled his head on top of Stiles' hair, allowing Stiles the chance to curl into Derek's warmth like he suddenly longed to do. Derek felt safe. And telling him made everything seem much lighter. His mind felt clearer as he cuddled into the tense body beside him, and he couldn't even bring himself to care how odd the whole situation was. He just needed the reassurance Derek was offering, he just needed to be held.

'We'll work it out Stiles, I promise. We – _I_ won't lose you again.'

**I know this took longer than the others, sorry about that. And I know Derek hasn't been in it much yet, but I hope this makes up for it.**


	6. The Weakest Will

Derek knew he liked Stiles. Liked as in, more than in a friendly way. The feelings had been there for a while, his wolf had been slowly growing attached, but Derek knew that Stiles wasn't something he was supposed to have. Stiles was pure and innocent and _good_, all the things Derek wasn't, and it was wrong for him to want to covet that, so he limited himself to watching and protecting.

Sometimes it got too much and he couldn't hold back. Those were the times he would shout and growl and push the boy around. Just to feel the warmth beneath his fingers, just to hear his heart speed up and his skin blush, and to hear that voice trembling with emotion. But even then he wished he could get the reaction some other way, some way that didn't have him hating himself the moment he slipped out of the boy's room and heard the stuttering breath being drawn in as Stiles sunk to the floor. He wished, and he dreamed, and he imagined, but he knew that was all it could be.

But then he lost Stiles. Then the idiot threw himself in the line of fire and died. He died for _Derek_. And it didn't make sense. Because Stiles should hate Derek, hell, Derek hated Derek, but then why did the fool take an arrow to the chest for him? And god it had hurt, watching the life drip from the boy as he shuddered and trembled beneath Derek's fingers, again, so close but so far from what Derek wanted. And Derek couldn't stop himself from throwing his head back and _howling_, before laying Stiles' body on the ground and massacring anything and everything in his path. Because in that moment he had known that he had loved Stiles. He had just realised it too late.

And then Stiles had come back to life and Derek couldn't believe it, _wouldn't _believe it until it was the only option left to believe. It was a miracle, and that was what scared Derek because miracles didn't happen to him. But Stiles was there, smiling and laughing and breathing. Derek could feel the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart, smell the familiar scent and he thanked the gods for his luck.

But Derek wasn't lucky, and miracles came with a price, and when Stiles came to him and told him the truth, Derek's heart ached. He was so close to breaking, kept together by strings, and losing Stiles again would crack him open. He'd lost everyone he'd loved only to find one more person to give his heart to, and now life was trying to take him as well?

He wasn't going to take that.

Derek was an Alpha now. And Derek was in love. If Stiles was in danger then Derek was going to make damn sure he did everything he could to protect him, and if that failed he was going with him. Scott could be Alpha, he'd make a good Alpha if the others kept him in line, but if Derek had to suffer through losing Stiles again he knew he would go insane. At least if he died with Stiles there was a chance they would be together. But that was a last resort. Plan A was to find a way to keep Stiles alive, to keep him safe.

From that moment he was reluctant to leave Stiles alone for long. He knew that the teen was freaked out about losing massive chunks of his life, but he'd also heard Stiles when he had said that it didn't happen when a pack member was around, so he resolved to always be there, to keep the fear at bay as best he could. During the day he waited outside of the school, loathe to trust the betas with something so utterly important, and in the evenings he trailed Stiles around as he did his various chores, until finally he reached his house and then Derek settled beneath his window and waited out the night, sleeping in short sharp bursts just to make sure Stiles was alright.

He was pretty sure Stiles had no idea he was there. At least until Stiles flung open his window one night and demanded he stop being a creep and come in. Derek was a weak willed wolf, he wasn't going to turn down an open invitation into Stiles' bedroom. He told himself it was simply to keep a closer eye on the boy and ignored the skip in his own heartbeat.

Trailing Stiles had meant keeping his distance, but up close he could see how utterly wrecked he was. The bags under his eyes were almost bruise-like, and he yawned every few minutes, his mouth opening so wide that it seemed like his face would split in two. His movements were bumpy and less coordinated than normal, and his normal air of energy was gone, replaced by a bone tiredness that Derek swore he could taste in the air.

Unsure where to stand Derek remained by the window, turning briefly to pull it closed, not wanting the chill to get in. He watched in silence as Stiles pottered around his room, shuffling papers on his desk, and throwing clothes into his hamper, already having changed before inviting Derek up, and when he was done he settled onto the bed and switched off the light.

The room went quiet, Stiles' breathing the loudest noise in an otherwise silent darkness. Derek was afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, lest he disturb the weird restless atmosphere that had fallen over the room. There was something off about the quiet, as if there were noises just below the surface, begging to be heard. As if he could hear the sound of Stiles' mind working as he lay in his bed, only meters away, and Derek could only guess at what Stiles was thinking right then.

'I don't want to die.'

It was sudden and quiet, but it might as well have been as loud as a gunshot what with the way it ripped through the silence.

'I'm scared. I don't want to die.'

Derek shifted, his body aching to move closer, but his mind knew that was a bad idea. He gripped the back of Stiles' desk chair to stop himself from moving towards the bed, desperate to know the Stiles was alright.

'I told you. I'm not going to let you die again Stiles.'

There was a pause. And then a sob, broken and breathy, followed by a bitter, cutting laugh.

'What if that isn't your choice, Derek? What if you can't stop it?'

Derek growled, his bones jarring beneath his skin as the wolf scrabbled at his control. The words tore through him, ignited every fear, every doubt he had in him. It killed him to know that Stiles didn't believe in him, that his trust ran shallow, that the uselessness that he felt towards himself, Stiles felt as well. He'd suspected as much, but hearing it was 1000 times worse. But he'd made this happen, he'd pushed Stiles away knowing full well this would be the result. It was his fault Stiles didn't trust him.

'I can and I will. You just have to trust me on that.'

There was that laugh again and Derek winced in the darkness. Stiles didn't respond further, in fact he didn't speak for several long minutes following Derek's plea, and he worried that he had done something wrong, something to offend Stiles. But eventually the boy spoke again.

'Can you come here?'

Derek startled, taken aback by the question.

'I- I don't think that would be wise.'

He hated himself for saying it, for not giving in a going as soon as Stiles asked, but it wasn't his place to take from the boy what he was only willing to offer through fear and loneliness. He couldn't take what he didn't deserve.

'That's not what I asked, Derek. I asked you to come here. Please.'

And it was as if Stiles knew he was pushing against the last remains of Derek's will, pleading his way past Derek's defences, and forcing the wolf to take control. Without much conscious thought at all, Derek found himself half way across Stiles' room before he even stopped to blink. In another heartbeat he was crouched by the boy's bed, hovering over the teen. Without speaking, Stiles slipped a hand out from under the covers and groped around until he found Derek's wrist, and tugged.

Derek stayed motionless, frozen in place, confused more than anything. His mind fought against his instinct to throw caution to the wind, climb into the bed and claim Stiles as his own, until he had no doubt in his mind who he belonged to, until he knew exactly why Derek would never let him go again. But that couldn't happen, would never happen, because he could never force that bond on Stiles. So he stayed, resisting the tug on his wrist, though each unhappy exhale from Stiles sent pain coursing through his veins.

'Derek, please.'

And god, the kid had no idea what he was doing to him. His voice so small and scared, begging to be protected, to be shielded from the world, from everything that tried to harm him. The tremble of his muscles as he pulled at Derek's will, over and over again. He was carving away at Derek's resolve as if it were nothing, and if he hadn't known it before, he knew now that there was nothing he could really deny Stiles. Not when he asked so quietly, so pleadingly, when he made it seem like Derek was the only one who could offer him the peace and safety he craved. Making Derek feel special, and like he was actually worth a damn. And so, letting his selfish longings take over, Derek gave in and crawled under the cover, pulling Stiles close until they were tanged together, his face buried in Stiles' prickly hair, the fresh shampoo scent washing over him.

He heard Stiles' heart beat stutter, fast and loud like that of cornered prey, but as he smoothed a hand down his back, he relished the happy and contented exhale Stiles let slip from his lips before he burrowed deeper into Derek's chest, hands fisting his t-shirt as if it were a lifeline.

Derek continued to rub soothing patterns into Stiles' skin while he waited for him to fall asleep, and finally Stiles' heartbeat began to slow down and even out. Just when Derek was sure Stiles was asleep he heard a muffled voice, and felt the warm puff of breath tickle against his neck where Stiles had ended up nestled against the skin.

'You know, it's better when you're around. When you hold me, I can almost forget what's happening. It's peaceful in my head, and it's never peaceful in my head, not since I died. There was buzzing, always _buzzing_, and now the buzzing has gone. It's so nice Derek, it's so _quiet_. Thank you.'

And then he fell asleep, leaving Derek to ponder the muted words and puzzle them out while Stiles drooled on his shirt. And when he looked down at the sleeping boy, so innocent and peaceful, Derek felt the last of his will shatter and he pulled the boy close, pressing his lips to his forehead and sighing, wondering what part of hell he would be sent to for taking something so pure and delicate and ruining it like he did with everything he touched.

But he couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

Not with Stiles dozing fitfully on his chest, sprawled across him like he was trying to shield _Derek_ from the world, like the fucking _martyr_ he was. No, Derek was fully prepared to risk hell's eternal fires, for this little piece of heaven. It was his now, and he refused to give it up.

**Ahh, emotionally stunted Derek with his hero complex. My favourite. I hope it's yours as well.**


	7. Epiphany

**So look, I know that it has been absolutely ages since I uploaded, but I have been so busy… and lazy. So please forgive me, and enjoy. This isn't the best chapter, but it is necessary for the good stuff to come next time.**

Stiles had always prided himself on being smart.

And ok, yeah, he was never going to reach Lydia Martin levels of smart because he was convinced that _no one_ else could _ever_ reach that level of intelligence without some kind of radioactive accident. But still, he was on the better side of average when it came to his mental aptitude, and he could only dream of the genius he may have been had he not been cursed with ADHD, the ultimate distraction tool. But even that made him proud in some way because it was one thing being bright when everything is in your favour, but when you excel despite your brain trying to screw you over, well _that_ was an achievement.

So yeah, he may not have been sporty, or muscled, or a _freaking werewolf_, but he was smart. And around people like Scott, he could sometimes convince himself he was a downright _genius_, because while Scott is lovely, he's also a complete potato.

Brains were all he had, that and his sarcasm, which made the fact that it had taken him so long to figure out the pieces of the puzzle, that much more frustrating.

In retrospect it was all so clear. Annoyingly so. It was the only option that made any sense once the wolf pack idea had been dismissed. And he really should have seen it coming because, in all seriousness, when had Stiles' life _not_ revolved around Derek Hale and his little moon problem since they'd met. Why had he expected this to be any different? Because he was a naïve idiot, that's why.

He'd figured out that the whole thing was linked to the pack, and the leap from the pack to the Alpha should have then been obvious, but it just hadn't occurred to Stiles until Derek had spent the evening's cuddling the looming whiteness away, and keeping Stiles relatively sane. He should have guessed earlier that that was a clue. It wasn't like Scott's hugs were chasing away the white outs, hell, those days Scott's _presence_ was barely doing the trick. But Derek? Every time Derek showed up Stiles could breathe a little easier, think a little clearer. He really should have seen it earlier.

So, as it turned out, Derek freaking Hale was Stiles' destiny. It was his fate to land the Alpha, or at least try to. And while part of him wanted to jump for joy that someone (something?) else thought that they should be together, he also wanted to curl up and cry because there was no way this wasn't going to end in some sort of death, the way he figured it, he just got to choose if he wanted to wait fate out or if he wanted to speed up the process and confess his undying, destiny driven, affections for an emotionally constipated Alpha werewolf with an unhealthy tendency to threaten Stiles with throat mutilation. And yeah, that was his life now, weighing up the pros and cons of different deadly scenarios. _Fantastic._

He missed the good old days when he simply pined over Lydia from behind a bush. Things had been so simple back then.

But no, life had taken an unfortunate turn to the supernatural, dragging Stiles and his sanity down with it, which would go some way to explaining why he was currently standing on the creaking, rotten wood of the old Hale porch steps, contemplating whether or not it was still considered polite to knock if there was no door.

He was just about to raise a fist to tap at the door frame when a hand on his shoulder caused him to whip around. He couldn't say he was overly proud of the noise that came out of his mouth as he did so, but he felt it was justified considering the sudden werewolf presence behind him and life's tendency to screw him over. And if he happened to take a completely clichéd and ridiculous karate stance out of pure instinct, then he was just glad that Derek was kind enough not to laugh in his face.

And wow, 'Derek' and 'nice' in the same sentence really went to show how drastically Derek had actually changed since they had met all those months ago, and if Stiles wasn't mistaken, he could clearly make out concern etched into the lines of his face. His face was actually displaying emotion that wasn't furious anger, it was a miracle.

A hand on his arm drew him back from his mental ramblings.

'Stiles? Are you alright? What's happening? What's wrong?'

His voice was calm and steady, commanding like he was completely in control, but there was a faint ring of red around his pupils, and his grip was slightly too tight around Stiles' arm for the effect to be complete. He was worried, and that really shouldn't have made Stiles as happy as it did.

Placing a hand over Derek's, and relishing the way the skin on skin contact quietened the buzzing in his head and forced the looming whiteness away, Stiles encouraged the fingers to loosen their death grip on his hoodie. Catching on, Derek dropped his hand from Stiles' arm, apparently not noticing the way Stiles' hand half-heartedly tried to keep hold of it, and glared in that way that Stiles now knew meant 'I'm worried, spill or the claws come out because I am emotionally stunted and anger is the only emotion I am comfortable with.'

'Look Derek, I'm fine.' There was a quirk in Derek's eyebrow that told Stiles he wasn't being believed. 'Ok, maybe not _fine_, but there is no new immediate threat. I just – I just need to talk to you for a minute. I think I've figured out what I am supposed to do, but it – you might be involved. Can we go inside?'

For a long moment Derek stared at Stiles' face as if trying to work out what was happening without having to sit through the conversation. The weight of the glance, and the resumed buzzing, meant that Stiles couldn't help but fidget under the gaze, which seemed to only make the gaze heavier. It was excruciating.

It was only when he started chewing on one of the drawstrings of his hoodie that Derek snapped out of his creepy staring with a low growl, placed his hands on Stiles' shoulders, used his grip to spin Stiles on the spot, and then shoved him through the gaping hole of the door-less door frame.

Stiles' last thought as he stepped into the worn down, crumpling hallway of the house, was that, no matter what actually happened, this was going to be interesting.

**Short I know, but the next chapter is the reveal. So I wanted to cut it off here and leave that for next time because I felt my writing wasn't flowing too well today and I want it to be good. So bear with me.**


	8. Time's Up

Uneasiness hung in the air, thick like a fog, and choking Stiles with every breath he took. He was starting to panic, starting to regret his decision to ever approach the subject. And, above all, he was seriously starting to doubt the conclusions he had drawn.

You see, Stiles' life was many things, crazy, unpredictable, terrifying as hell, but one thing it was not was perfect. Stiles didn't often get what he wanted, a lot of the time he didn't even get what he _needed_, like validation or appreciation, and it was something he had come to expect. So there was no way, _no way_, that the world had suddenly decided to scrap that routine and offer him _Derek Hale_. It was too nice, to perfect, too on par with what Stiles wanted. And yeah, that had been part of the cryptic riddle the bodiless voice had told him when he was dead – and, oh god, what _was_ his life?- but still, surely this was going way too far.

Maybe fate was playing a trick on him, maybe their endgame was to let Derek kill him, although that seemed kind of redundant seeing as he had already been dead when they brought him back. Bringing him back just to kill him again seemed a bit like overkill. Literally, over_kill_.

But still there was no way that Derek was his god damned _destiny_. There had to be something else, something less terrifying and potentially amazing, because life just didn't work like that, especially Stiles'. And hell, he was still trying to get his head round the whole 'destiny is real, he has one' thing let alone accepting that Derek might be involved in it, it was all way too much and he really should have thought everything through a lot more before coming to confront Derek. Oh well, kind of too late for that.

The chair sagged beneath Stiles as he flopped down, hand scraping across his scalp as he tried to calm is racing mind. He idly registered that he was in exactly the same seat that he had sat in each and every time he had come to Derek's post his resurrection. For some reason that relaxed him slightly, as if the routine of it all comforted him enough for his heartbeat to stop pounding in his chest like a blacksmith's hammer.

Derek had pulled the rickety old chair across the room again like he had the last time Stiles had visited, and was perched on it, forearms locked tight against his legs as if he were actively forcing them to stay still. He stared at Stiles expectantly, waiting for Stiles to speak. Clearing his throat and twisting his fingers together, Stiles took the plunge.

'So, um, yeah. Like I mentioned outside, I had an epiphany of sorts about this whole temporary life situation, as in, I may have an idea of how to make it permanent again. Well actually, I thought I did, but I am strongly doubting my own deductions right now. Yeah, the more I think about it the more I am sure I am completely wrong. Never been more wrong actually, embarrassingly so. Just forget it. I'm going to, er, just leave-'

'_Stiles_.'

Stiles froze, halfway between sitting and standing, staring at the hand on his shoulder. He flicked his eyes towards Derek's blank face, and then back towards the hand as it started applying light pressure, coaxing him back onto the worn cushions. Knowing it was useless to resist the will of the scarily strong Alpha, Stiles let himself be pushed down again, but refused to continue talking.

'Stiles, what were you going to say? What did you think it was?'

There was frustration and curiosity in Derek's tone, and Stiles really wanted to see what expression he had on, but he couldn't bring himself to meet Derek's eyes, unreasonably embarrassed now he was actually here talking to Derek about his theories. His impossible theories.

'Stiles please. You said it involved me? What do you mean? How?'

The hand that Derek hadn't removed from his shoulder tightened, a short, sharp pulse of frustration being conveyed through the gesture. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a second before blinking them open and tilting his head up to meet Derek's strangely intense gaze.

'You won't like it.'

'Try me.'

And that wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. He'd been trying to warn Derek off, he'd expected it to work, he wasn't expecting a flat out counter to his warning. Practically a _dare_. And the intense stare was doing nothing to lessen Stiles' confusion and agitation.

'Seriously Derek, you won't like it.'

'Seriously Stiles, _try me_.'

The insane urge to punch Derek in the jaw washed over Stiles. It was one part frustration, one part wanting to get Derek to stop staring at him like he was challenging him, and one part need for distraction however life threatening it may be. He refrained simply out of respect for the bones in his hand, and his unwillingness to offend Derek any further than he had to. Instead he exhaled sharply, raised his chin in fake confidence and pushed Derek's hand off of his shoulder.

'Ok, you want to know what I came up with? Fine. Here it is. After hours, and hours, and _hours_ of wracking my brain I realised that there was a pattern to the chaos that it my epically tragic life right now. Do you remember last time I came here? When I thought I was meant to become a wolf and join the pack? I'd reached that conclusion because the whiteness only receded when I was around a member of the pack, right? I'd thought it was a clue, and I still do, only now, I think it means something else. You see if it isn't the _pack_ that I was responding to, then it had to be pack _related_. So I thought about, we already covered just how much I thought about it, and I realised that when I was around Scott, or Isaac, or Erica, Boyd, Jackson, I was _there _but so was the whiteness, lurking just behind the scenes. When I'm with _you_, there is nothing. No whiteness, no buzzing, no headaches. It's not the pack, it's _you_ that was making the whiteness recede, and because the pack respond to you, they helped keep it away as well.'

Derek's face scrunched up in confusion, so completely puppy-like that Stiles had to dig his nails into his thigh to keep from laughing, or maybe cooing because it was kind of adorable in an odd way.

'I don't understand. Why me? What about me?'

'Yeah, well, this is the bit I think you won't like so much, so just remember you asked for this. Anyway, so yeah, once I figured out you were involved in the whole 'destiny' thing it was pretty easy to figure out the rest. The other part of the crazy riddle was that it would relate to something I want but would never take. Basically… _you_.'

Stiles raised his hand to halt any speech on Derek's part.

'Wait till I finish to kill me please. It's the polite thing to do, and if you have to kill me then please let me die in the knowledge that I at least taught you basic etiquette. Thank you. Where was I? Oh, yeah, so I figured that it made sense for the whole fate thing to be related to hooking up with you seeing as it fit the criteria. Of course, I hadn't totally considered how ridiculous that really sounded until I got here, fate is hardly going to be interested in my love life is it? Rest assured that I do, now, know that it was idiotic and that I am completely on board with never, ever, talking about these, um, _feelings_, for the rest of my life, however short that turns out to be.'

Silence.

'Um, I'm done, you can, er, kill me now if you want.'

Stiles' fingers tangled together in his lap as he stared resolutely over Derek's shoulder. His heart was crashing against his ribs, and his throat was tight, letting through only a few panicked little breaths at a time. Now that Derek's hand was no longer on his shoulder, the buzzing was back, ringing against his brain with startling intensity. He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to dislodge the sound as best he could.

It did stop, but only when warm fingertips gripped his chin and halted his movement. The sudden peace was incredible, and the heat sparking through him from the contact only emphasised that, but Stiles still refused to open his eyes, content to stay and lose himself in the moment, possibly one of his last.

'You think I'd kill you?'

If he didn't know better he would have said that Derek sounded _hurt_. As if the very idea was ridiculous and insulting and _painful_ to him. Stiles smiled, somewhat serenely, still not opening his eyes as he spoke.

'What? Not worth the trouble of hiding the body. Yeah, I get that. I'll be dead in a few days anyway, so really no need on your part, you just need to wait it out.'

Stiles' eyes flew open as he heard a muffled choking sound. Derek's eyes were wide, his mouth parted, and his entire body seemed to be frozen. The hand not on Stiles' face, was clutching at the fabric of his jeans, the grip so tight it seemed that they might not remain intact for much longer.

'Don't say that. Don't you _dare_ say that.'

Derek's voice was deep and dark, verging on a growl that shook through Stiles like an earthquake. Derek's irises were rimmed with red, feral fury pouring out of them, but Stiles got the feeling that it wasn't all directed at him. To say he was lost was an understatement. The entire conversation had taken a very unexpected and confusing turn somewhere back around his confession and now he was blindly trying to avoid any hidden landmines in the uncharted territory.

'Um, what?'

It was hardly eloquent, but then again he was surprised he had managed to get any words out anyway, what with his mind racing, trying desperately to figure out what was happening. He almost groaned out loud when the fingers dropped from his face, the cool air hitting the overheated areas where the warm pads of Derek's fingers had been.

'You think I'd kill you? You think I want you dead? You're an idiot, a complete fucking _idiot_. How can you – I don't understand – I thought you were supposed to be _smart_.'

He leant forward, elbows resting on his knees and eyes locking Stiles' in place.

'I mean, _god_, you think I would hurt you for telling me you like me? You think I'd kill you for telling me – telling me everything I – I want to hear? How can you not know? How can you not know that you dead is the last thing I would ever want. How can you not know that I would do anything, _anything_ to keep you alive? To keep you with me?'

And then there were lips against Stiles' lips, fast and frantic and desperate, and it was all Stiles could do to hold on to Derek's shoulders and give back as good as he got, because even if he was still trying to catch up with what he'd just been told, he was hardly going to argue with the results. Despite what Derek had just said, he wasn't a complete idiot.

And really, it was wonderful, fantastic even, up until the point that the whiteness lurking at the back of his mind, suddenly forced its way forward, crashing violently and painfully against every corner of his mind, and swept him away.

He cried out for Derek, but he was too far gone to be heard.

Sitting in the burnt down remnants of his old family house, Derek stared down at where Stiles had been only a second ago, there was now only empty space. His hands shook as his mind spasmed, and finally a low choking gasp forced its way out of his throat. And as if that had broken the dam, Derek fell to the ground and finally broke like he hadn't let himself since Laura's death, because really, what was the point of staying strong if Stiles was gone?

He'd waited too long; the fates had taken him back.

Stiles was dead.

**More soon.**


	9. The Finale

**Last chapter!**

Stiles was getting pretty tired of white, in fact, he would even go as far as to say it was his least favourite colour ever. It was just so tedious and blank and it made his teeth itch if he stared at it for too long. It sucked.

He was back in the nothingness, vertigo spiking through him every time he looked down and realised he couldn't see solid ground beneath his feet. He felt like he'd been there for hours, standing at first, calling out till his throat was sore and his legs ached, and when that had gotten too unbearable, he had sat cross legged on the 'floor', and chewed on the string of his hoodie, letting his mind wander.

He wondered how long he'd been away. He wondered whether he could ever go back. He wondered if there was something, _anything_, he could or would have done differently had he had the chance. He wondered what Derek was thinking, what he was doing. He wondered, somewhat indulgently, whether Derek missed him. He wondered what would happen to his friends now that he was dead and had obviously not succeeded in steering them off of their darker path.

He'd tried, he really had. It just hadn't been enough in the end.

He could imagine Derek calling the pack together, telling them everything Stiles had kept from them when he was alive. He could imagine Scott's face as Derek's grunted words sunk in, he could imagine the looks of shock and disbelief on the other betas' faces as they took it all in. And Jackson, oh Jackson, so adamant in his bullying when Stiles was alive, would sob over Stiles' demise, admitting with tears streaming down his face that he had never meant any of his cruel words and taunts, and that he'd done all of it because he had always been jealous of Stiles' awesomeness.

Ok, so maybe that was unlikely to happen, and Jackson was more likely to frown a little, as if the situation were sad but a massive inconvenience to him, before making a snide comment about having to bury Stiles again, and how he was a burden even after death.

Fucking Jackson.

The others would mourn though. And someone would have to tell his father, although _what_ they would tell him, he had no idea. He hoped his dad managed to get over it eventually, maybe someone would look out for him now that Stiles was dead, make sure he didn't drink too much or eat too unhealthily.

It was hard to think that he had nothing left. He'd lost his parents, his sister, his wife, and now his son. It was a true testament to the man that he was still standing, it was the reason he was Stiles' hero. He wished now that he'd told his dad that before he'd died.

And Scott too, he'd never get to tell Scott what his friendship had meant to him. How much he loved him, and missed him, but he hoped that Scott knew that already. They'd been through so much together, Scott's dad leaving, Stiles' mum dying, werewolves, Peter, the Alphas, their's really was a bond that boggled the mind, brothers in everything but blood. He wished his friend the best, wished him happiness in his pursuit of Alison, hoped he managed to survive the wrath of Chris Argent when he inevitably found out about the relationship. It was so utterly Romeo and Juliet that Stiles was certain it would work out, hopefully without the dying, and he could see it now, 10 years in the future, Scott and Alison McCall watching their little brood of werewolves run around the yard firing arrows at each other, scratching with tiny little claws, and biting with pin pricks of teeth as the pair laugh and pull each other close, happy in the life they made. Stiles likes to imagine they named one of the children after him, that they spend evenings recounting the adventures and sacrifice of Uncle Stiles, the boy who ran with wolves. At least his legacy would live on.

He doesn't really know what will happen with Derek. Part of him doesn't want to. He supposes that the wolf will move on, find a mate, and settle down with a broodier brood of his own, and that should be a good thing, but it really doesn't feel like it to Stiles. His throat tightens uncomfortably, so he moves away from those thoughts as quickly as his hummingbird mind can.

Jackson and Lydia will probably end up together, but their relationship will undoubtedly be chaotic what with their clashing natures. Stiles doesn't envy them the rollercoaster, and that's strange because Stiles has always envied Jackson for his claim on Lydia, but apparently not anymore. Closure, he guesses, his timing is superb.

Erica, Isaac and Boyd, they'll be good wolves once they learn to control themselves. Erica in particular needs to settle down, find her place in the pack, but when she does, she'll flourish. She'll make a good mother, in Stiles' opinion, non-judgemental, and just rebellious enough to seem cool and interesting to her kids, but strict enough that they won't run riot.

Stiles is doubtful that Isaac will have cubs, at least not until he is much older. It is obvious to anyone who looks that he worries about what his own father became, worries that he may follow in his footsteps, and no matter what anyone says, he will carry that fear around for many years to come. It is his burden to bear until he chooses to give it up. But Stiles has faith that he will flourish in other areas, perhaps he'll pursue his dream of being a vet.

Boyd is trickier, reserved to the point that he fades into the background slightly, so Stiles never really got a chance to figure him out as well as he did the others. But from what he has seen, Stiles knows that Boyd is strong and resilient, and he has no doubt that whatever path he takes, Boyd will succeed.

The pack will be fine. They never really needed him anyway. He has no doubt they will miss him, but he does not pretend that the world will stop without him.

'_Mr Stilinski_.'

Stiles startled, string dropping from his mouth as he gasped and fell backwards. It was the same voice from before, the stern but kind sounding woman he'd 'met' last time he had died. He pushed himself off of the ground, back to a seated position, and rubbed at his shoulder which was throbbing from its collision with the ground, wincing as in pulled slightly.

'Sorry Mr Stilinski, I did not mean to startle you. I also apologise for making you wait, I was not prepared for your visit.'

It was odd to think that the fates had been taken by surprise, that he had caught them off guard. It was in a way, strangely satisfying. He allowed himself a small smile, imagining the woman rushing around in a nightdress, shouting down a telephone about the Stilinski boy as she pulled curlers out of her hair and told her husband to go back to sleep. A fate's work is never done after all.

'Anyway,' the voice continued, 'I suppose you already know why you are here, so we do not need to go into that, so I'm afraid all that is left are the formalities, verbal signatures and the like. I'm sure you understand, even we have paperwork.'

It was all so… different. Different to the last time he had been there. Last time he'd come everything had been so mysterious and frustrating, now it was all clerical and formal. It was unsettling. His death – even if it was his second – shouldn't feel like filling out a form at an insurance company, it was a complete let down, underwhelming to the point that it was almost boring. He frowned in disappointment.

'Yeah, that all sounds fine I guess.'

He sighed and rested his head on the knuckle of his hand, waiting for his orders, eager to leave the limbo he was in, even if it did mean entering the unknown – that was how much he hated the white.

'Mr Stilinski, you do not seem as happy about the arrangement as we had expected, is there something wrong?'

Stiles laughed, bitterness flowing out of him in waves.

'No, no, it's fine, I'm fine. It's just that I miss my friends and my dad, and I kind of regret not jumping Derek earlier, but hey, what can I do about that now? Can we just not talk about it please; this whole thing is still kind of fresh.'

'If that is what you wish, of course, but I still do not see where this pain is coming from, you shall see your friends and family soon enough.'

'I don't think that thought is as comforting as you think it is, it gives me no pleasure to think of my friends joining me one day in the land of the dead, thank you very much, although it is nice to know that we can see each other in the afterlife. Maybe I can find my mum. Ooh, maybe I can meet Derek's family, will they still be werewolves? I've always wondered about his parents, oh and Laura and – oh wait _no_ – will Peter be there too? Because I can't promise I won't punch him in the jaw for the trouble he has –'

'Mr _Stilinski_, you are not _dead_.'

Stiles froze, hands resting in mid air from where he'd been using them to gesture wildly during his babble. His mouth hung open inelegantly, but no words were forth coming. All he could do was stare ahead as his mind tore itself apart trying to work out what was happening. After a while he realised he was getting nowhere and managed to force out a strangled, 'What?'

'You are not dead Mr Stilinski. Whatever gave you that idea?'

Throwing his palms out to the side, he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a pointed look, and gestured to his bland setting before allowing his hands to drop back to his knees with a huff.

'Ah I see.'

The voice tapered off, tutting under its breath as it determined what to say next.

'It seems out wires have crossed somewhat, and we have given you the wrong message. You are not here because we are reclaiming you as one of the dead, you are here because you managed to complete your task and we have to release you from your bond and send you back permanently.

'You look shocked. Did you not realise what you were doing when you were doing it? I'll take that dopey look as an affirmative shall I? Ok, what an utter mess this is.'

'Wait. What did I do? How did I complete my task? I mean I thought I got what it was, vaguely enough, but I never managed to follow through. You guys whisked me away before I could. I thought I had run out of time or something.'

He was breathless, mind still racing, and heart pounding as he clenched his hands into fists, the sharp tips of his fingernails cutting crescents into his palm. Every inch of his body thrummed with hope and excitement that he refused to latch onto, refused to accept until he had heard what the voice had to say.

'The moment you bonded with Mr Hale, the moment you allowed yourself to let go, and he returned the sentiment you offered, you changed the path your friends were travelling. That was all you needed to do to brighten their horizons, and yours too, and thus you fulfilled your requirement, and gave us justifiable reason to have sent you back.'

'So, you're telling me that all I had to do was make out with Derek Hale, and this would have all been over a lot sooner, without all the frustration and hair pulling?'

'It is not simply about the kiss, rather the feelings behind it, but in essence yes, the kiss represented your admittance to your feelings, which was what was required for the bond to form between you.'

'Alright, if you say so, I'm so not going to argue with the results.'

'That does not sound like you, but I too am not going to argue with the results. From what I gather silence is not often expected from you.'

Stiles laughed at that, happy to the point that he was verging on hysteria. His heart would not stop cracking against his ribs, and his fingers twitched as if they couldn't stand still. He dazedly went through the process of following all the orders the voice gave, listening with a spinning mind to the process of his return and giving his agreement at the end, all with very little focus at all. At long last the voice sighed and said,

'Seeing as you aren't even listening to me, we might as well send you home now. Are you ready?'

A quick nod from Stiles seemed to do the trick, and the next moment the whiteness trickled into his mind once more and washed though his thoughts. Before he succumbed he just about managed to hear the voice say,

'Goodbye Mr Stilinski, be safe.'

When Stiles came back to, he was sitting in the same worn out chair in Derek's house that he'd been in when the whiteness had come. And wasn't it a rush to think that the whiteness was never going to come again, to know that he was safe, at least in that moment?

He rested his head on the back of the chair, and breathed in deeply, smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt, but he really couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

The sound of voices made him sit up again, intrigued that he could hear them, even though he was pretty sure they were not in the house. Following the sound, he realised the voices were coming from outside. Stepping onto the porch, still concealed in the shadows, he took in the sight before him with his eyebrows drawn and a frown settling on his face. Derek and Scott were standing toe to toe, both wolfed out and growling, ready to pounce. The other betas were further away from the house, watching the fight with worry and trepidation, Isaac backed up slightly further than the others, shielding himself behind Jackson who had an arm out protecting the other wolf, though it wasn't clear if the action was completely conscious or not. It took Stiles a moment to realise that Scott and Derek were actually talking rather than growling like he had originally thought.

'You should have told us Derek. We could have helped. What gave you the right to –'

'He didn't want you to know, I respected his wishes. Do you seriously think this is what I wanted?'

'I don't know, you never liked him much, perhaps this is _exactly _what you wanted.' Seconds after the words left Scott's mouth he was lying on the ground, Derek looming over him with red eyes and a snarl, hand tight around Scott's neck.

'You don't know _anything_. You have no fucking idea what this is doing to me. This is the last thing I wanted, the last thing I can handle, and you have the nerve to presume that this is what I wanted? I would kill you right now if I didn't know how much he'd hate me for doing that.'

Derek let go of Scott and rose to his feet, turning his back on the beta as he got his wolf back under control. Scott too reverted to his human form, still knelt on the ground massaging his bruised throat. Without turning around Derek continued talking.

'Now that he is gone, you will be the new Alpha, Scott. I can only hope that the responsibility will encourage more restraint and maturity than you are showing me right now. It will be up to you to keep the betas in line when I am gone, to encourage their loyalty and to deal with threats to the pack. Can you manage that?'

At that Derek turned around to look at Scott, his eyes dark but human once more. Scott stared back wide eyed and confused. A glance at the other betas showed similar expressions on each of their faces, their eyes flicking from Derek to Scott and back again as they tried to make sense of the situation. Stiles understood their confusion, confusion didn't even _begin_ to cover it.

'What are you talking about?'

Running a hand through his hair, sighing deeply as he did, Derek gazed down at where Scott was still knelt.

'He's dead.'

'I know that. But that doesn't make me Alpha. You're still here.'

The whole world seemed to thrum with anticipation and expectation, waiting to hear Derek's response, desperate to understand what was going on. Derek himself seemed reluctant to answer, but eventually he managed to force out a few words, enough to make the clearing still, enough to make Stiles' blood run cold.

'I won't live without him, I _can't_.'

Scott inhaled sharply, and Erica whined in the back of her throat, hand clenching around Boyd's bicep where she had it in a death grip.

'You can't kill yourself Derek, it isn't what he would have wanted.'

Derek turned to look at Erica, glaring at her until she took a step backwards, head bowed, cowering under the intensity of his gaze.

'He's _dead_,' he spat the word out, as if it hurt to say it. 'It doesn't matter _what_ he would want.'

Scott shuffled back to his feet and brushed his jeans off. The action seemed to attract Derek's attention back to him, and when he looked up they locked gazes. Scott cocked his head to the side in an oddly canine manner, and appeared to try and decipher Derek's look. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and cold.

'What I don't understand is why you even care.'

Fists tangled themselves in the material of Scott's shirt as the boy was hauled off of the ground and towards the snarling face of an Alpha.

'Because I loved him.'

The words seemed to shock even Derek as he froze on the spot, Scott still dangling in front of him, equally as taken back. Coming back to himself, Derek dropped Scott to the ground and closed his eyes, breathing deeply as his elongated nails scraped against his jeans. No one knew what to say, and no one wanted to be the one to break the silence. Well, almost no one.

'I'm sorry what did you say?'

Heads snapped up at the sound, eyes darting around in panicked confusion. Stepping out of the shadows of the porch, Stiles grinned at the startled looks on their faces, looking from each one to the next, desperately wishing he had a camera, Jackson in particular was sporting a particularly accurate fish face. Before he could say anything scathing however, he was tackled to the ground, the air vacating his chest in one big exhale, leaving him gasping and breathless and looking up into the shining face of Derek Hale.

Derek seemed to be trying to touch every part of Stiles he could, as if he refused to believe that Stiles was there, alive and breathing _again_. Laughing as Derek's feather light touches against his ribs tickled him, Stiles grabbed Derek's shoulders tightly, bucking slightly, trying to remove the wolf from his hips.

'Hey, hey, stop that, it tickles. And wait, you never answered my question either.'

Halting in his movements, Derek frowned, his cheeks blushing faintly, and Stiles couldn't help but bring one of his hands up to brush against it, cooing lightly at Derek's embarrassment, much to Scott's disgust who gagged in the background. Derek growled softly in Scott's direction before returning his attention to Stiles, pushing into the hand on his cheek slightly as he muttered sullenly, 'I said I loved you.'

'Loved?'

Nipping at Stiles' fingers, Derek glared at the younger boy incredulously, but answered all the same.

'Love.'

Stiles smiled, wriggling beneath Derek in happiness and he brought his other hand up to Derek's neck, using it to pull him down closer. Just before their lips touched, he managed to pull back just long enough to whisper,

'I love you too… Sour Wolf.'

Scott's whine melted into the background as their lips finally met in a long overdue kiss.

**So cheesy, but hey, I hope you liked it. We've reached the end my friends, thank you so much for reading. There may be an epilogue, so keep watching, but if there is it won't be any time soon, and if you have any ideas as to what it might contain, feel free to give me suggestions. **


End file.
